


till the blues skies drive the dark clouds far away

by couldaughter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, POV Character of Color, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldaughter/pseuds/couldaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Morita spent years fighting for his country, and now he can't seem to catch a goddamn break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	till the blues skies drive the dark clouds far away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



“You can’t come in here.”

JIm Morita gave the bartender the dirtiest look he could muster. “I fought for this country, just the same as you. Don’t see why I can’t drink a beer alongside all these…” he paused, glancing around at the bar full of surly, white men. “ _Heroes_.” He gestured towards them with a hand sadly empty of beer.

The bartender was unmoved. “Get out before I throw you out, buddy.”

“Ok, well, fuck you, buddy.” Jim turned on his heel and walked out. It was nineteen fifty fucking one and he still couldn’t get served in any good bars. He hadn’t pulled the ‘I knew Captain America’ card since 1948 but it still tempted him every time.

He trudged along the sidewalk, feeling the soles of his boots sticking slightly with every step, and set his sights towards what amounted to home.

Fresno turned out to be a hell of a lot less interesting after cleaning HYDRA out of Europe with Captain Goddamn America, and half the Commandos had gone home to fuck their wives or, in Falsworth’s case, a succession of very pretty young men. Morita wasn’t really interested in that, though, although it turned out New York was good for it if you wanted any company. Plenty of bars Barnes had mentioned were still around.

Sometimes Gabe came up to visit from his place in Queens, and that was nice. Neither of them really got the whole romance thing, spent whole weekends lying on Jim’s shitty couch trading cigarettes in silence, and it was enough.

It still hurt to think about Barnes, and Rogers at that, but Jim felt like forgetting would be too much like giving in.

He walked slowly back to his apartment, breathing in air thick with smog with the kind of relish reserved for someone who had never done it before and hadn’t yet realised how bad it tasted. It reminded him of France, in some ways.

His apartment was tiny, but it was in Manhattan and it was fairly cheap and that was all he could ask for, especially with nothing but the army pension to tide him between jobs. The lock on the front door was rusty and the door itself was pretty flimsy, but Jim liked it. 

It had long term potential, and he was almost looking forward to settling a little. New York was frenetic enough to keep him entertained, but still solid enough to keep him from getting lost in the rush. And there were a couple of other advantages.

The bedroom door was ajar. That didn’t worry him, though, because one of New York’s advantages was sat on the couch, looking for all the world like he belonged there. Jim went to the sink and got a glass of water.

“Y’know, if you spend any more time on that couch I’m gonna start charging rent.” Morita slumped into the couch cushions next to his friend, and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

Gabe Jones grinned at him, pearly white teeth shining in the afternoon sunlight. “I’d run away ‘fore I let that happen, Jimbo. I love you, buddy, but living with you would be another level.”

“You’re only saying that because your apartment has a bathtub.”

“True.” Gabe lifted his beer bottle and clinked it against Jim’s glass. “You could always move in with me. I wouldn’t even make you pay rent so long as you made dinner.”

“I’m not a housewife, Gabe.”

“Oh, but baby, we could be so good together.” He slung an arm around Jim’s shoulders and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

Jim held back a smile. “If you ever call me baby again I’m kicking you to the curb, and I won’t even change outta my steel toe boots.”

At that, Gabe pushed himself up off the couch and walked the two step path to the kitchenette. “Why do you hurt me in this way, Jim?”

“Because I’m an asshole.”

“Oh, right.” Gabe laughed, and fetched another beer. “You want one?”

Jim nodded gratefully, and the two fell into a companionable and slightly drunk silence. Eventually, Gabe started to hum. It sounded familiar, hopeful but a little mournful, and Jim couldn’t quite place it.

“What is that?”

Gabe looked up. “What?”

“The tune. It’s gonna bug me for hours if you don’t tell me, so.”

“Oh. I don’t know. Some English dame.” Gabe shrugged.

“Probably pretty terrible, then. Shame on you for hanging around Falsworth too long.”

“Falsworth doesn’t listen to popular music, Jim. Whenever I see him he’s always going on about some ‘marvellous new opera I’ve discovered.’ It’s ridiculous. Most of them are older than my grandpa.”

Gabe’s English accent was pretty horrendous. Jim had the sudden urge to kiss that stupid grin right off his face.

“One day Falsworth is gonna hear you do that and he’ll probably - no, he’ll _definitely_ kill you in your sleep.”

“Guess I’d better learn to sleep with my eyes open, then.”

Jim grinned at him, unable to hold it in for once. Gabe’s eyes softened.

“You look good, anyway. Way better than last month.”

“Last month I’d just got fired, Gabe. Excuse me for not being a ball of Steve Rogers style sunshine.”

Every time they mentioned Steve in conversation it got a little easier to think about him.

“Well, clearly unemployment makes you more handsome. Maybe I should try it out.”

“Nah, you’re alright as you are. I mean, you’re ugly as sin but you ain’t blinded me yet.”

Gabe put a hand on his heart. “That really got me right here, Jim. My heart can’t take all that apple butter talk.”

Jim paused. “I’m about to do something stupid.”

“Not like that’s anything new for you, huh?.”

Gabe kissed with his eyes closed. Jim smiled against his lips.

When they broke apart, Gabe raised his eyebrows. “Stupid? Only stupid thing is you waiting eight years to do that.”

“Not like you did anything about it either, jerk.”

“Yeah, well.” Gabe stopped, then grinned wider. “Why are we arguing when we could be doing that again?”

“You’re a real charmer, Gabe Jones.”

“Not so bad yourself, Jim Morita.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Vera Lynn's We'll Meet Again, which is also the song Gabe is humming.
> 
> My tumblr is at cpnmarvel, where you will find... not much Marvel at the moment... that'll probably change once I see Guardians though. Watch out, anyway.


End file.
